


Queen of Hearts: Inside Queen Nadzedha's Search for Her Imperial Consorts

by 7iris



Category: Original Work
Genre: Celebrity journalism in space, Multi, Science Fantasy, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7iris/pseuds/7iris
Summary: Cosmospolitanmagazine brings you the exclusive story!
Relationships: Trusted Female Advisor/New Queen/Volunteers She's Choosing From For Her Harem
Comments: 14
Kudos: 29
Collections: Holly Poly 2020





	Queen of Hearts: Inside Queen Nadzedha's Search for Her Imperial Consorts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GaleWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaleWrites/gifts).



The Kaphnos Archipelago on Yaelara is widely considered one of the most romantic destinations in all of the Outer Systems. Each island is a private jewel, where the ocean foams like pink champagne against the creamy gold sands of the beaches and jungles of lush teal and cerulean foliage hide luxurious palaces. Night-blooming khalonia, whose scent forms the top note of the most expensive perfumes in the galaxy, grows wild here and fills the air with its fragrance. The twin moons are always full in this hemisphere, and the nights are always warm enough for a moonlit swim -- or other activities.

It is here, in this secluded beachfront villa owned by the royal family, that the newly-crowned Queen Nadzedha will meet the candidates chosen by the Naotania system and select one to be an Imperial Consort.

The tradition dates back to the founding of the Imperium, when the first queens would take a consort from every system they conquered, a gesture of peace and goodwill. It has been nearly two hundred years since a system was conquered -- Naotania surrendered to Queen Nadzedha's great grandmother without a shot fired -- but the tradition remains: each Queen selects one Consort from every system in the Imperium. It's been decades since Nadzedha's mother selected her Consorts, and citizens throughout the galaxy are following the process with breathless interest.

The Queen arrives with a dozen Imperial guards in full powered armor, complete with helmets and mirrored face shields, a handful of aides, and a senior advisor, Secretary of Interior Affairs Artiss. But despite this fluttering crowd of functionaries, the Queen draws the eye, fixes the attention as though no one else is present.

The gravity on Yaelara is slightly less than standard, and new arrivals frequently struggle with it. Several of her aides walk with an extra, graceless bounce in their step. But the Queen strides effortlessly across the synthmarble floors. 

You've seen the holos. Perhaps you've wondered, as I have, if that astonishing, compelling imperial presence was a trick of digital artistry. I can tell you now, readers, it is not. 

She looks like her mother, of course: golden skin and night-black hair, the imperious lines of her nose and jaw, those dark eyes that can glow with sensuous warmth or militant intensity. When she smiles, it is like the soft yellow sunshine of Povis IV touching your face on a cold winter day.

She is dressed informally today. Instead of a formal crown of state, she wears a discreet coronet of brushed metal shaped into the outline of the Capital's skyline. The coronet, like the rings she will give her Consorts, is said to be made of the scrapped remains of our first queen's flagship in the conquest of Epialaë, which marked the end of the rival system-states and the beginning of the Imperium. 

Against this historic artifact, her clothes seem almost shockingly modern: a jumpsuit inspired by the flight suits of needle ship pilots, a look that is all the rage in the Inner Systems this spring. Unlike the outfits of the Inner System glitterati, the Queen's clothes are likely made out of the same military grade liquid fabric that the flight suits are made out of, although hers is a fashionable iridescent silver rather than the more utilitarian black and grey of the Imperial Air Force. 

Anyone who followed her exploits as a princess in the tabloids will tell you she was never photographed looking less than immaculate, whether it was the newest, soon-to-be hottest designer, or her military uniform. She clearly has no intention of changing that as Queen.

The selection of Consorts is the first public event she's done since her coronation, if a month-long tour of the galaxy can be considered a single event. 

"It's tradition, of course, to do it as soon as you're crowned," she acknowledges. "But even if it weren't, I would have prioritized this. The role of Consort is purely symbolic, but what it represents is deeply important to me, and to the Imperium."

Which is?

"The Imperium is made up of trillions of people, living on hundreds of planets and stations in dozens of systems. Everything I do as Queen is -- or should be -- for their benefit, but it's hard to put a face on that many people. The Consorts are that face. They symbolize my personal connection and commitment to the Imperium's citizens."

A great deal of responsibility for the Consorts.

"Yes, and no," the Queen says with a rueful smile. "They don't make recommendations on export duties for iron ore or khalonia blossoms, or lobby for higher levels of military presence in their systems -- that's what Senators and system governors are for! But my Consorts will remind me that there are human lives affected by every decision I make on those issues. And I have to be able to look my Consorts in the eye after I make them."

So how does one go about choosing the conscience of a Queen? Each system selects a panel of candidates. Usually, the legislature or the governor identify people, or solicit applications. Some systems allow their citizens to vote on the candidates. This year, the Tephos system had a reality TV competition to select their candidates. Those names are sent to military intelligence, who conduct background checks to make sure none of the proposed candidates are a security risk or a secret assassin. 

"And then my senior advisor selects a subset of the candidates for me to meet personally." The Queen nods at Secretary Artiss, who has accompanied her here today.

Secretary of Interior Affairs Artiss is a child of the Imperium herself, the daughter of two of the Queen's mother's Consorts. She and Queen Nadzedha grew up together, as friends and-- 

"Rivals," Secretary Artiss says, at the same time the Queen says, "Competitors,"

\--in the cutthroat Imperium classrooms. 

If the Queen is dressed in the cutting edge of modern fashion, Secretary Artiss is all classic elegance. She wears a timeless Tr'fallth suit, the sharp lines and wide, cape-like sleeves of the jacket and the sleek, skin-tight trousers exquisitely tailored in Stygian blue with gold accents. The gold matches her gold lip and eyeliner, bright against her velvet brown skin. Her hair is cut very close to her head, contributing to the refined look.

Although Interior Affairs might sound like an agency that would involve itself with staffing decisions and household matters, it is in fact part of the intelligence service, notorious for its domestic spycraft. An unusual choice to draw a matchmaker from?

"Secretary Artiss is an excellent judge of character because of her work for Internal Affairs. I trust her judgment implicitly."

And what does a senior royal advisor look for in a Consort?

"A lack of seditious tendencies," Secretary Artiss says, so dry that this interviewer is still not sure if she was joking. "An open mind, a good sense of humor. Someone who will not..."

She pauses, as if searching for words, and the Queen, watching her, begins to smile. The Secretary frowns back and the Queen's smile grows. It is easy to see in this moment that they are truly good friends.

"Someone who will not be overawed by the Queen," the Secretary finishes. It feels like a diplomatic answer, and the Queen looks away, still smiling.

"Of course, I insisted that the Secretary choose people she likes as well," the Queen says. She reaches out and squeezes the Secretary's hand. "That's important to me."

* * *

Most systems have posted profiles of their candidates for Consort on the net. Scrolling through them is a delightful, heartwarming, and at times hilarious look at what our galaxy wants to be seen as, who we've chosen to be our face in the eyes of the Queen.

Some candidates are beautiful enough to be models or holo stars (and in fact several are). Some faces you wouldn't look at twice in your local noodle bar. The youngest is eighteen: a gold medal winning gymnast. The oldest is seventy-nine: a retired admiral in the Imperial Navy, who spent his entire adult life in the service of the Imperium and his system and "would spend the rest of it in service as well if the Queen would have [him]." In addition to athletes, veterans, and holo stars, there are artists, musicians, and spaceport engineers, the children of politicians and oligarchs and the children of asteroid belt miners.

The Naotania system has sent both the daughter of the wealthiest and most politically connected family in the system, and a field hand who works on a khalonia farm.

Onora M. is a spare heir to a shipping fortune, a strikingly beautiful woman with pale skin, auburn hair, and blue eyes -- the beneficiary of "the best gene-sculpting and moisturizers money can buy," she says wryly, striking a playful pose to show off her profile. 

Why does she want to be an Imperial Consort?

She laughs. "Why _wouldn't_ you want this? Unimaginable wealth, just the right amount of fame -- everyone knows who you are when you're standing next to the Queen, but can you even name any of the Queen-Mother's Consorts, other than the one from your own system? And all you have to do is love your Queen."

Taniel V. works in the khalonia fields. Mechanized harvesters bruise the flowers, so the highest end farms only use human labor. Taniel's olive skin is tanned from the outdoor work, their black hair curling over the tops of their ears, almost in need of a trim. Their face can't compete with Orona's: their nose is a little crooked and their cheekbones are nothing special, but still, you would look twice in the noodle bar at their wide dark eyes with their outrageously long lashes.

Why do they want to be an Imperial Consort?

"Oh, well, I mean..." Taniel waves at the luxuriously appointed private rooms they've been given in the royal beachfront villa. "Of course. But also..."

But also?

Taniel's smile fades, and they bite their lip, almost embarrassed by their own earnestness, but they continue. "The Queen sees rich and powerful people from this system every day. I want her to see the rest of us, too."

* * *

The Queen's meetings with the candidates are private, held in the secluded, romantic setting of the Kaphnos Archipelago, but her choice of Consort for this system will be announced at a lavish formal ball held on Naotania's Brulinov Station.

The station's ballroom is the observation deck, a wide expanse of polished cloned oak floors under a dome of perfectly clear durasteel. Brulinov Station orbits a gas giant, and the planet hangs overhead like an enormous moon, swirled with shades of cream and rust and slate blue, almost close enough to touch against the inky black starfield. But no one is looking at this spectacular display of celestial beauty -- they are waiting for the true sun they orbit: the Queen.

This moment is meant to be a celebration of Naotania. Everyone of note -- rich, famous, and/or politically connected -- in the system is here. The bartenders are serving the pale green-gold wine made on Yaelara (rarely found in other systems as it is decidedly middling in quality and not worth the expense of exporting it) and the clear delicate liqueur made on Deismos (rarely found in other systems as it is exquisite and shockingly expensive). The buffet tables are laden with local delicacies and decorated with bouquets of -- unsurprisingly -- khalonia blossoms, but also long stems of ice flowers from Yaelara's smaller frozen moon. 

Backstage, if you will (a sitting room just off the main ballroom), the Queen's entourage is making the final preparations. The Queen is positively resplendent in a gown made up of layer upon layer of strands of tiny amber and pearl beads that float around her when she moves like the lashing acid rains of Thoemia II. She wears the Sun-in-Splendor crown, a golden disk pierced into lace-like fretwork with the starmap of the Imperium. It rises up from the back of her head and frames her face like a halo. Her mouth is tinted a deep matte red, so dark it is almost black, and long wings of the same color sweep across her eyelids almost to her temples. An attendant is fussing with the train of the gown and the Queen waits patiently for everything to be in order.

The candidates for Consort are all here as well, most wearing the bold colors and simple lines that are in fashion this season, one or two in more conservative clothes. Although the crowd outside does not know who has been chosen, the Queen has informed the candidates of her decision earlier today out of courtesy. If any of them are unhappy with the outcome, it doesn't show. 

It is not hard to guess who has been chose. Taniel stands a little apart from the other candidates, dressed in a jacket and sarong of pure, unrelieved vantablack, elegant and understated. Their hands are clasped together too tightly to be entirely casual, and their calm, mild expression is somewhat strained. 

The attendant stands up, leaving the train of the dress to pool artfully at the Queen's heels. The Queen glances at Secretary Artiss, and the Secretary nods back. In the ballroom, the opening bars of the Imperial anthem thunder forth from the sound system, and the murmur of conversation is replaced by a susurrus of rustling fabric as the crowd turns to face the dais and bows. The guards open the doors and the Queen steps forth, a shining figure of grace and power.

Taniel's eyes widen at the sight of the crowd and for a moment they look overwhelmed, uncertain. The Secretary touches the small of Taniel's back, says something in their ear that makes Taniel's shoulders relax a tiny amount, so that when the Queen turns and holds out her hand, Taniel steps forward and takes it with something like confidence.

The crowd applauds their Consort.

The Queen and her Consort walk down to the ballroom floor, hand in hand. The music swells, and the Queen and Consort face each other and begin to dance.

Secretary Artiss has remained in the antechamber as the other candidates filed out to join the party, flicking through something on her tablet. She is wearing a simply draped dress in the same vantablack as the Consort. Her lipstick and eye shadow are silver this evening, matching the silver chain around her neck. There is a plain brushed metal ring strung on the chain, but she tucks it away in the folds of the deep v-neckline of her dress as she hands the tablet off to an aide.

Surely congratulations are in order?

"One down, thirty-two to go," the Secretary says, but she accepts the compliment. 

Is she happy with the Queen's choice?

"Of course," she says, a perfect polite smile on her face. She glances at the door, at the glimpse of the Queen and her Consort sweeping across the ballroom floor. Taniel says something that makes the Queen throw her head back with genuine laughter, and the Secretary's smile becomes more genuine, just for a second. "Of course."

Symbolism is a difficult thing to build a life on, but laughter is a good foundation.


End file.
